Varnish
by QueenOfTheDreamers87
Summary: Bellatrix gets scolded by Voldemort at a Death Eaters' meeting for her nasty habit of chewing her fingernails. Embarrassed and horrified by the idea that she disgusts her master, Bellatrix gives herself a magical manicure. Bizarre flirtation and compliments involving prowess with murder ensue.


_August, 1973_

Bellatrix Lestrange chewed on a fingernail as Augustus Rookwood droned on (and on, and on and on and on) about the Ministry of Magic.

"We do have at least one spy in every department now, My Lord," he was saying. The Death Eaters had gathered at Malfoy Manor to discuss political progress, and Bellatrix was bored. She was a soldier. If the conversation had been about torturing prisoners, or how best to catch someone off-guard with a well-timed Killing Curse, she'd have been on the edge of her seat. Instead, she was slumped a little, her posture atrocious, chewing on her fingernail.

"Bellatrix," snapped Lord Voldemort all of a sudden from the head of the table, and Bellatrix jolted to attention. She straightened her back and slammed her palms onto the surface of the table as she nodded. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at her, tipped his head, and said in a silky tone, "Do stop chewing up your hands, will you? It annoys me. It's a nasty habit."

"I'm so sorry, Master." Bellatrix found herself humiliated, and she gulped. She licked her bottom lip and slunk backward in her chair, flicking her eyes to her husband Rodolphus beside her. She felt her cheeks go hot with embarrassment, and she let out a shaking breath as she tried not to cry. She had disgusted her master.

Later that night, she sat at the dinner table and bowed her head. She didn't say a word as Rodolphus hungrily spooned butternut squash soup into his mouth. She just stared at her hands. The edges of her nails were ragged; her cuticles were torn up. She'd really done quite a number on herself with her awful habit of chewing and biting, she realised. Perhaps it had been nerves causing her to gnaw. Or perhaps it had been boredom. It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that the Dark Lord did not like it. More than that, he found it to be _a nasty habit._ She revolted him.

Bellatrix Lestrange was in love with Lord Voldemort. Of that she was entirely certain. She could take or leave her husband. Rodolphus sometimes moved atop her in their bed and grunted a few times before spilling himself, for that was what husbands and wives did together. But they had married as twenty-year-old ardent adherents of Lord Voldemort with shared backgrounds and aspirations. They had not been in love. Their marriage was quite distant, and Bellatrix was very certain that Rodolphus knew how she felt about their master.

Voldemort had thin, greying hair that grew unevenly atop his head. He had scars, including one thick one from his forehead to his chin. His lips were chapped and marled, twisted and pulled. His eyelid drooped on one side. He was not conventionally handsome by any stretch of the imagination. But Bellatrix was so attracted to him she could hardly stand it. She loved everything about him - everything he was and everything he wanted to become. She would die eight thousand deaths for him and beg for ten thousand more. She would slay whole countries' worth of innocents for him, lay waste to cities for him, set fires that would burn for centuries for him. She had become a burning, iron-hearted soldier of death beneath his command, and she was grateful for that. She belonged to Lord Voldemort with every fibre of her being. Every whim he had became within her a command without question.

And so, to Bellatrix, the idea that he found her disgusting was so upsetting that she just sat studying her hands and hating herself. For a brief moment, she contemplated the notion that she was no longer worthy of serving him at all. Perhaps, she thought, if he found her ugly, she ought to remove herself from his presence.

"Bellatrix," said Rodolphus quietly, and she raised her eyes at last. Rodolphus arched a brow and suggested, "Haven't you got cosmetic spellbooks? Perhaps a manicure, and a promise to yourself never to bite them again."

"A manicure," Bellatrix repeated. She nodded slowly. "Yes. I could make my hands beautiful, so that the next time he sees me, he is not made queasy."

Rodolphus smirked and spooned more soup into his mouth. "I know you're not hungry. Why don't you go find the right book, then?"

"Thank you." Bellatrix pushed back her chair and strode out of the dining room of the luxurious London flat she shared with Rodolphus. She walked into their little library and scanned the shelves until she found _Beauty From Within: Charms For Even the Most Challenging Cosmetic Occasions._ Bellatrix pulled the book out from the shelf and thumbed through it until she found a chapter on nail care. She swallowed hard and sank into a wingback chair, extracting her wand from the pocket of her velvet coat-dress. She spread the book out over her lap and turned the page, licking her dry lips. The first spell she cast upon her hands straightened and neatened the edges of her fingernails.

"_Clavus Lautus._" She waved her wand in an arc over her nails as charms snipped and tidied her cuticles. "_Clavus Nitidus."_

After the nails were buffed and shiny, Bellatrix sighed and tried to think of a colour for them. She finally smirked to herself and settled on a dark Slytherin green. She paged through the spellbook's list of nail varnish charms, and then she carefully dragged her wand tip down each nail bed and incanted,

"_Clavus Smaragdus._"

Bellatrix used another spell to quickly dry the magical varnish, and then she stared at her hands. She was proud of what she'd done, the way she'd made them pretty and new again, and she promised herself that she would never, ever sit in a meeting gnawing on her hands in front of her master again.

Three days later, her Dark Mark burned like mad whilst she was reading the newspaper at breakfast. Bellatrix scowled at Rodolphus, but he seemed nonplussed. His Mark very evidently was not so much as tickling. Bellatrix cleared her throat, yanked back her sleeve, and showed her husband her blackened magical tattoo. Rodolphus raised his brows and nodded.

"Go," he said. "Must be urgent."

"Right. I'll be in touch." Bellatrix rose, swigged down the last of her orange juice, and Disapparated, coming to outside the gate of Malfoy Manor. Once she was allowed inside, she stalked like a wraith through the corridors until she arrived at the double doors leading to Lord Voldemort's office. She wondered what had brought her here today and not Rodolphus, but she obediently raised her fist and knocked firmly, sniffing and stepping back from the door.

It opened after a moment. He'd been expecting her. Voldemort nodded down at Bellatrix and then gestured for her to come into the office.

"I've got a mission for you," he said without pretext. He shut the door behind Bellatrix, moved into his office, and turned to face her. "A hit job, as it were. We've got a lead on a friend of Dumbledore's hiding out in the Cotswolds. I think you're the best one to go in there and quietly make them disappear without…"

He trailed off then. At first, Bellatrix wasn't certain why, but then she realised that in her gleeful excitement about being told she'd be murdering someone, she'd brought her fingertips to her lips. She'd inadvertently shown off her rounded, neatened, varnished nails. Voldemort choked out a little laugh and leaned onto the edge of his desk with one hand, tipping his head.

"Did I embarrass you that badly with my comment about chewing your fingernails?"

Bellatrix lowered her hand. Her face felt like fire then. She shut her eyes and shrugged. "I never, ever wish to displease you, My Lord. Not ever. Not even with something like my fingernails. You expressed disgust. I attempted to fix the problem."

"I quite like the green," Voldemort said. When Bellatrix opened her eyes again, confused, he was giving her an amused look. He nodded. "Slytherin green, eh?"

"You've guessed it, Master," Bellatrix whispered. She felt more humiliated now than ever, for some reason. She bowed her head and stared at Lord Voldemort's dragon-hide boots, and her heart thunked in her chest. Then, suddenly, he was approaching her, and he murmured,

"Your hands, ultimately, are meant for killing. Your fingers are meant to hold the wand that slays my enemies. I do not _really_ care about your fingernails, Bellatrix. Hmm?"

"I don't ever want to make you feel unhappy with me, Master," Bellatrix said, her throat thick and her eyes welling. "Not even about -"

"You're going to go to the Cotswolds and kill an old wizard called Mercury Sullivan. Your hand will hold your wand, and that wand will cast a Killing Curse upon my enemy, because you are my most valuable soldier. My best lieutenant. Do you really think I give a damn if you've got green nail varnish on or jagged fingernail edges when you murder Mercury Sullivan for me?"

She said nothing to that. She wanted, somewhere deep within her, to remind him that he'd scolded her at meeting in front of everyone for chewing her nails, that he'd called it a nasty habit. He'd made her feel disgusting; he'd made her feel as though he disapproved of her. But before she could remind him of that, he reached for her right hand and brought it to his lips. Bellatrix looked up in wonder to see him kissing her knuckles carefully. He smirked then, lowering her arm and dragging his thumb over her varnished nails. His throat bobbed, and he said in a quiet voice,

"This hand does a most excellent job killing for me, and so I think I find it to be the loveliest hand in all the world. Hmm? Bella?"

She just stared at him, at his disfigured face and his dark eyes, at his hard gaze. She felt his hand around hers, and she could not breathe. She nodded at last, and then he released her hand at last. He took a long breath and turned to his desk, reaching for a stack of parchments wrapped in twine.

"Take this dossier," he said, "and carry out the mission as expeditiously and efficiently as possible. Leave a Dark Mark, of course, but don't go getting yourself arrested. Wouldn't want to lose you to Azkaban, would I?"

Bellatrix just shook her head. She breathlessly took the parchments and genuflected, rising slowly.

"I shall do your will, and I shall do it well, Master," she promised.

"You always do," Voldemort replied. He took another inordinately long breath and mumbled, "Go home and finish your breakfast."

"Master." Bellatrix bowed her head again and turned to go. As she neared the door, Voldemort called out from behind her,

"Black next time, if you please."

Bellatrix whirled around, blinking. "I beg your pardon, My Lord?"

He cleared his throat and sniffed. "The next time you put varnish on your fingernails. Black."

Bellatrix curled up her lips and averted her eyes to the sconce on the wall. Her stomach twisted strangely, but she nodded.

"Yes, Master," she managed to say, and then she opened the door and left.

**Author's Note: Just a fun little one-shot. These are always a hoot to write. For those who have sent messages, I appreciate it. I do intent on finishing **_**In Pursuit, **_**but I'd like to do so properly when my health is better, so for right now I'll just be writing one-shots. Thanks for understanding, reading, and reviewing.**


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